Page 23 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

I become abruptly aware of my own hand.

It's in my pocket, closed around Margot's hair tie.

Fucking splendid.

I've been carrying the thing for hours, and brought it downstairs with me without once considering that I could simply put it somewhere.

There's little point denying anything now, so I pull it out.

Grath stops chewing. Ronan sits up straighter. Evan glances over from the stove with his wooden spoon still in one hand. Mikael closes his book and looks at the thin black elastic looped around my fingers.

Mikael's mouth curves into a slow grin as he looks from the hair tie to me.

"Well, well, well."

"It's a hair tie."

"I can see that."

"Then we've covered everything there is to say about it."

Mikael places the book facedown across his knee. "Oh, I don't think we've even begun."

I put the hair tie back in my pocket and leave before he can say anything else about it.

Grath's laughter follows me into the hallway, with Ronan's joining a second later. Mikael calls something after me involving shampoo and several centuries of denial, but I keep walking. There are moments when maintaining one's dignity requires a strategic retreat, and I've lived long enough to recognize one.

I take my retreat all the way to the third floor and don't stop until I'm inside my rooms with the door firmly shut behind me. Their laughter doesn't follow me this far, though I have no doubt Mikael will find another opportunity to be insufferable about it later.

My nest takes up most of the bedroom, exactly as it should. Blankets overlap in no particular order, pillows are piled against the headboard and along the wall, and one of the quilts has been half kicked onto the floor since sometime last night. Nothing matches. Everything is soft, warm, and mine.

I take Margot's hair tie from my pocket and set it beside the lamp on my nightstand, where it won't get lost.

Only after I put it down do I realize I've given it a place in my nest rather than putting it somewhere to return to her next week.

I should probably move it.

Instead, I leave it exactly where it is and open the linen closet.

The better blankets are stacked toward the back, mostly because anything left within easy reach has a habit of migrating downstairs and ending up around Mikael's shoulders. I pull out a cashmere throw, then pause and take down one of the heavier blankets as well. A spare pillow follows, then another.

I carry everything to the far corner of the nest, where the wall holds the evening warmth longest, and start arranging it.

Not the way I would for myself. I sleep hot enough that half my blankets end up shoved aside by morning, and I've never cared where the pillows land as long as there are enough of them. This is different. I fold the heavier blanket so it can be pulled up easily, layer the softer one beneath it, and arrange the pillows against the wall before stepping back to look at them.

One is too high.

I move it, reconsider, then put it almost exactly where it started.

That should probably be the moment I stop.

Instead, I test the heavier blanket across my forearm, making sure the weight is comforting rather than restrictive. I add another throw within reach and catch myself considering the cloud pillow from my side of the bed. But I leave that one where it is.

By the time I finish, the corner is warmer and softer than the rest of the nest, arranged so whoever crawls into it wouldn't have to adjust a damn thing. She could simply lie down, pull the blanket over herself, and let someone else worry about the rest.

My hands go still on the edge of the throw.

I'm making room for Margot.